Monthly Archives: January 2017

Reflections from the Women’s March, Washington, D.C., January 21, 2017

Pussy grabs back, I was raised by a nasty woman and now I’m one, too, Black lives matter, We the People, we bodies of the people, are greater than fear, keep your filthy paws off my sticky drawers, this is what democracy looks like, I stand with Standing Rock, no disrespect, no going back, we will not go quietly back to the 1950s, my body, my choice, her body, her choice, no to racism, homophobia, misogyny, climate change is real, save the planet, this man grateful to be raised by a nasty woman, immigrants welcome, hatred not, if I wanted government in my vagina I would have slept with a senator, no human is illegal, hands (or dick) too small to build a wall, and on and on, homemade signs and improvised chants everywhere, notes of this land is your land, we shall overcome, on many lips, sassiness, joy on many hips, and arms, hands, smiles, laughter.

We came from everywhere hundreds of thousands, bodies gathering one by one, two by two, young and smooth, old and wrinkled, women yes the most but men, too, children, parents, grandparents, college students, tots in strollers, gay, lesbian, bi, trans, cis, straight, Black and Brown, Christians, Muslims, Jews, immigrants Dreamers, sex workers, clergy, lawyers, singers, accountants, clerks, dock workers, athletes, unemployed, underemployed, doctors, social workers, retirees, and all the rest. So much joy, so many smiles, laughter and song, dancing even when packed like sardines between monumental buildings made small by roars of voices joined together to stand, to rise—Maya Angelou’s Still I Rise resounding in every heart— Angela Davis with hair out to here reminding us of all the connections from Ferguson to Orlando to Planned Parenthood, from Standing Rock to Palestine. We marched and when we could not move, still we marched, our hearts beating with the pulse of liberty and justice for all. We were, we are, the People whose claim on this nation does not cease because voices of yesteryear now hold official power, seeking to recapture some imagined golden era when men were white and ran things, while women, Blacks, queers, natives, Latinx, Muslims, Jews, trans and physically challenged folk, and elderly, all the rest of God’s people, kept to themselves, not getting in the way of those who keep anointing themselves the powers-that-always-are and shall be.

Power to the people the long ago cry of those marching, blocking roadways, and sitting in to protest elites sending our beautiful boys into senseless, ill-fated war— now expropriated by billionaires and millionaires to convince people with much less, so much less, that they are all on the same side, while cutting taxes for the richest and insurance for the rest, claiming science is a hoax and Islam work of the devil— a topsy turvy world, growing more Orwellian by the day, in which, for which, we must march, more we must organize and write and speak and sit down where we are not welcome, learning from Dr. King and Malcolm and suffragettes and so many more that there is nowhere the arc of justice will not bend and create the change we need when we link our arms and hands and hearts and minds and souls, becoming the angelic troublemakers of which Rustin spoke and Baldwin wrote, remembering as sister outsider Audre Lorde wrote, too, our silence will not protect us, only we claiming our power can do that.

We the people: This is our time, again.

If you cannot see the entire image at the top, and wish to see this moving public art,please click here

A moving, brilliant exploration by my old and dear friend and colleague, Dr. Jennifer Harvey, of how we can keep dissent front and center, and work together for the change we so desperately need. It is long, but read it to the end……it is well worth it!

Four days after the election I went for a run on the trail near my house. As I approached each person on the trail I wondered “Is this person gloating and gleeful? Are they relishing an outcome that has me and so many folks beloved to me feeling violated and terrified?” I felt raw, afraid and angry. Self-protective. I wanted to know.

Partway through my run an older white, heterosexual woman saw me coming. This is someone I’ve had occasional small talk with over the years, not someone I know. When she saw me about 25 feet away she stopped dead in her tracks and stretched out both of her arms, palms open, in a gesture of “stop.” I slowed. As I got closer she said to me these words: “I am so sorry. I am so, so, so sorry.”